"We should treat Parliament as a representative of the enemy. We might for some definite purpose be forced to send members to Parliament as rebels. But under no circumstances to help to carry on the government of the country. And therefore we ought not to put forward palliative measures to be carried through Parliament, for that would be helping them to govern us." William Morris, 1887
Sonja called me. "Beer!" I chugged the rest of my cup of coffee and walked down the hall for a visit. Sonja and the Hammer were curled up on the bed. Sonja asked, "Aren't we the cutiest?" "If the two of you were any cuter," I answered, "the both of you would be on the cover of Cutie Poo magazine."
The curtains were open. I could see the storm had gone by in the night. No leaves remain on the back yard trees. Now it is winter. Time to hit the hard stuff.
After I gave my two favourite girls their morning hugs I filled up the slow cooker with the ingredients that will make hot mushroom barley soup for dinner. Just like the depression years in the early '80s, soup, once again, is good food.
Soon my dog and I were down by the river. It was real quiet down there. That is the way it always is after a storm. It was so quiet I could pick out individual sounds as they reached my sawmill worker's ears. A small plane going west; a long train going east; trumpeter swans, stoned on old lead bird shot, going nowhere in particular; the rain falling on dead leaves.